


A Need To Forget

by Val_Creative



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Adults, Banter, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bottom Billy Hargrove, Canon Related, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Heavy Angst, Humor, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s03e08 The Battle of Starcourt, Post-Season/Series 03, Rough Sex, Smoking, Top Steve Harrington, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: With the destruction of the Mind Flayer, and the entire Starcourt Mall going up in hellish, roaring flames (including Steve's part-time summer job), they're all left to pick themselves up.Billy lives. Somehow.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 20
Kudos: 154
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	A Need To Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImNeitherNor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/gifts).



> I joined this fest completely on a whim and I'm glad I did! I got to try Harringrove for the first time! Wow! I really hope the shippers enjoy this and any thoughts/comments would be totally appreciated! ♥♥♥

*

With the destruction of the Mind Flayer, and the entire Starcourt Mall going up in hellish, roaring flames (including Steve's part-time summer job, damn it), they're all left to pick themselves up.

Billy lives. Somehow.

He narrowly dodges getting impaled through the chest by a nightmarish monster-limb. All of his injuries vanish. Black gunk washes off eventually. Dustin calls it a miracle, but Steve doesn't think God has anything to do with what happens in Hawkins, Indiana. It feels like more like they're jinxed.

The kids — Steve's own little losers club — seem alright. Max goes quieter than usual, trying to spend time with her brother who does nothing but eats, shits and gazes lifelessly at his bedroom wall.

She's worried. Billy doesn't respond to her. He doesn't go out on dates with girls or fixes his hair.

Or yells at her.

(That breaks Steve's heart that Max thinks that should be normal. That it's considered a good sign if Billy gets violent and hateful towards her. She's a _kid_. She deserves to feel safe in her own house.)

Steve keep himself in the doorway, halfway out of sight as Eleven, dressed in jean overalls and a striped, pink blouse, kneels down to Billy. She's the one who gets his bright blue eyes to refocus. Something about El feels… _otherworldly_ , Steve thinks. But in a nice way. Calm. Reassuring. A healing presence.

"Will went through the same thing, Billy…" Eleven murmurs, furrowing her brows. She lets go of Billy's right hand, and then presses her fingertips lightly against his cheek. "You're not… alone."

In the corner of his eye, Steve sees Will ducking his head, biting on his lower lip harshly.

He half expects Billy to snap out of it, feral and snarling, and twists Eleven's wrist, but he just stares. The corners of Billy's eyes turn visibly moist. Eleven stares back with a gentler, hopeful intensity, her face softening into a smile. Her fingers rest down to Billy's jaw.

" _Get out_ …" Billy's voice rumbles, low and thunderous.

Steve inhales sharply, tensing up. 

Eleven nods, not terrified or surprised by his response, and gets up, walking back to the bedroom door. 

"C'mon, El," Steve whispers, touching her shoulder and guiding her into the hallway. Maybe it's not the right time.  " _WHOA_ —!" he says, blocking Max rushing forward.

"That's the first time he's spoken in weeks," Max barks, teeth gritting. "I wanna go talk to him."

"I know," Steve insists, blocking her again when Max attempts to go under his armpit. He decides to push down on her shoulders, keeping her in place. Her red curls burnished in the dying sunlight. "I know, hey. _Hey_. _I know_. Just… let's take it one step at a time… alright?"

One furious look from Max and Steve feels like his guts are knotting up.

"Will, you been practicing driving with Jonathan's station wagon?" he asks, glancing around.

"Um, yeah," Will mumbles.

Steve digs into his pocket for a moment, tossing him the keys. Will barely catches them, going astonished. "Get these two to the Wheelers," Steve orders quietly. "No funny business. No random stops to the ice cream shoppe. No kidding." He gestures firmly with one finger, pointing it slowly at Max, and then Eleven, and then Will. "You guys have your nerd shit going on tonight?"

"We're playing a new Dungeons and Dragons campaign—"

"Like I said, nerd shit," Steve interrupts, his mouth curling up in amusement. "I'll meet back there."

Will eyes the keys doubtfully. "You sure?"

"I sure as hell ain't letting Red here drive my brand new goddamn car," Steve declares, smirking and watching as a deadpan Max sticks out her tongue. He rustles her curls, and then Will's hair with his other hand, shoving their heads briefly, playfully as they lead Eleven towards the front door.

They chatter on about something, and Steve prays that Will actually has been learning to drive.

He's a little busy right now.

Billy remains on his mattress's edge, arms at his sides, sitting upright and looking ahead to the wall unblinking. Like an abandoned, old doll. _Broken_. This isn't a situation Steve prepared to be in. Trying to comfort Billy _fuckin_ ' Hargrove. But, hell, something deep inside Steve tells him he can't leave. Not until he attempts to get Billy to leave his own room or at least stop _staring at the wall mindlessly_ —

Steve cracks his neck slightly, flexing.

"It's just you and me, pal," he calls out, approaching the bed and flopping down on Billy's other side. Steve reaches between the two slices of mattress, yanking out an older edition of Sports Illustrated. As he suspected. Typical place to hide the junk you don't want the parents to see.

"You mind?"

He whistles cheerfully, ignoring Billy, flipping through pages idly.

"Sure you do. If you were yourself, you would be kickin' my ass right about now." Steve peers down thoughtfully to a petite-looking brunette in a skinny, red bikini. Her humongous breasts partly exposed and covered in oil. His dick throbs to life. "But you've been through some crap, and—"

_ "—get out, Harrington." _

"He speaks!" Steve comments, mocking enthusiasm. He lowers Billy's magazine, becoming more serious and turning to the other man. "I'm gonna be honest with you, man. You don't wanna hear bullshit and I don't wanna give it. We're not friends. You're a piece of shit, and I used to be a massive piece of shit."

Over on the bedstead lies a cigarette carton. Steve grabs onto it, stretching over, pulling one out.

"Life was simpler. Get detention… fuck some popular girls… and if any other kid seemed weaker… you put 'em in their place before they could realize what you had _was all an act_. Make sure everyone knew they were weaker than you. I _hated_ myself. But I didn't know what else to do." Steve digs into his pocket again for a Zippo lighter. "That means you _don't_ have to be a piece of shit either."

At the crackle of the flame sprouting, Steve witnesses a near-invisible wince from Billy. He doesn't bring it up, holding his palm near the lighter and cigarette now burning at its end.

"Max? Your sister? Pretty sure that kid loves you to death. You terrorized her and hurt her friends before the whole monster-possession, and she's forgiving you anyway," Steve murmurs, keeping his voice leveled. "You got a second chance, man. Take it."

With a flourish, he presents out the cigarette. Smoke billows from his lips. 

It's a pleasant, tobacco-tinged odor, and Billy peers at him for once. 

Blue, so much blue that Steve could choke, blue eyes land on Steve's lopsided grin. He would be okay with choking. To be honest.

(Steve might have liked the popular girls, and Nancy, but they don't have what he needs to _gag on_ until Steve's hard as a rock. He's seen every inch of Billy in the locker room, and it's promising.)

He can't guess the emotion when their fingernails brush. The other man takes the cigarette, puffing.

"You're still a piece of shit…" Billy grumbles, his head lowered.

"That's reassuring." Steve cocks an eyebrow up at him, leaning back on his hands. "What…?" Billy knocks away the magazine half-propped on Steve's lap wordlessly. "What? Don't like breasts?"

"I like them fine," he answers Steve's observation coolly. "It's an old magazine. Reeks like jizz."

A disgusted, loud noise.

" _Crap_ —"

Steve wipes his hands frantically, and somehow it makes Billy laugh. He laughs and coughs and struggles to breathe. Which only makes him panic. As his face darkens to red, Steve notices him close to hyperventilating. "Hey, don't do that—" He smashes Billy's lit cigarette out, going on his knees to the quilts. Steve's fingers clutch onto him. "Shh. Billy, hey, _shhh_. It's okay—"

As soon as his hands are on him, Billy wrestles against him, flipping them. They cuff each other's faces and necks. Steve's foot plants to the other man's left side, ready to kick him off.

He yells out Billy's name, realizing the fear and desperation is what motivates him.

Steve forces them apart, kicking hard, gaining the upper hand. Billy ends on sprawling out, and he pins him down by the forearms, Steve's mouth aggressively pinning him as well.

It's less of a kiss. More of a _distraction_ until he senses Billy's anger lessen. Open mouths, exploring, tasting nicotine and the remnants of peppermint-flavored gum. He rakes his tongue over Billy's molars, feeling Billy's own wet tongue invading him as their lips widen and close a little. Steve's half on top of him, rubbing a thumb over Billy's earlobe and that silver, dangly piercing. His other arm wraps around Billy, Steve's hand pushing entirely down the seat of Billy's jeans.

"Where's—" Steve breathes out, one of his fingers tracing over the clothed line of buttocks.

_ "—top of the dresser—" _

He scrambles off Billy, hurrying to the copiously used jar of Vaseline. Steve halts when he sees the other man tugging off his plain white tee, revealing his sun-browned, firm skin. He's build like a fucking Sports Illustrated athlete, and Steve's dick throbs harder than before.

"Merry Christmas," Steve mutters without thinking, awestruck. It's the middle of August. Billy overhears him, his lusciously plush, pink lips tilting up as he wiggles out of his denim jeans.

This barely makes sense. And yet, here Steve is, pulling off his slacks and dark green polo he wore at Family Video, waiting for the moment that Billy snaps out of this and decides to fight him again. He's still waiting when Billy's fingers slicken up, and Steve has to not pass out observing Billy ride his own fingers, moaning, his dick enlarging and stiff, like he's done this before a hundred times.

He's still waiting, waiting, Steve's heart pounding, as Billy eases the tip of Steve's cock inside.

They need to _forget_.

Everything.

*


End file.
